


Biting Lips And Biting Back Words (It's Always The Same With You)

by Phantomlimb



Series: Merry Christmas, Here's Your Gift [1]
Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood and Torture, F/M, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Sexual Tension, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-09
Updated: 2015-12-09
Packaged: 2018-05-05 20:38:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5389439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Phantomlimb/pseuds/Phantomlimb
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Illya hates him, he hates this smug American with his trademark smirk and dancing blue eyes that are never up to no good. Well that's what Illya tells himself until he finds out you can't really hate your soul mate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Biting Lips And Biting Back Words (It's Always The Same With You)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [klaudos](https://archiveofourown.org/users/klaudos/gifts).



> To Klaudos,
> 
> This was a bitch, much like you're a bitch, so I hope you enjoy this.
> 
> Phantomlimb.
> 
> Also here's a playlist if anyone's interested: http://8tracks.com/phantomlimb21/biting-lips-and-biting-back-words-it-s-always-the-same-with-you

 

Certain things are dismissable when you are a child.

A slap to the face, the tug of jealousy, the inherent need to lay claim to things that are not yours.

Illya struggled with control.

This is fact and the only person who could ever soothe away his troubles and make his hands stop shaking was his mother.

“One day I won’t be around to calm you, my Angel. That job will fall to your soulmate,” she’d say tenderly in Russian with a twinkle in her brown eyes.

“The one with a wolf?” He use to ask, uncertainty in the air, even though he knew the answer.

She’d sigh and run her hands through the blond strands of his hair and motion for him to sit on her lap. He’d always been big for his age and would always sit on her gingerly. She always noticed this and would shake her head in amusement but smile which was always Illya’s goal: to make her smile. It was a task his father excelled in failing, in fact, it wasn’t his mother’s smile his father sought out, nor was it her company.

Rocking back and forth on that chair with her, the smell of her perfume, Jasmine, cloying the room, she’d say “Oh, Illya, you know this to be true.”

“But why, Mamochka?” He always answered back despite having had this conversation a thousand times before.

His mother always smiled tiredly but would nonetheless indulge him.

He should have paid attention to just how tired her smile had been, perhaps he would’ve been able to save her but he was a fool; such is the disposition of a child.

She’d rock them both and say just as she had every time before “We are blessed, Angel. We live in a world where we know we are never truly alone. For every person on this earth has a true love, a soul mate. God gave us a way to find them by having our loved ones marked with our affection. Everyone knows their own mark, they need only to find it on a different body. The only enemy here is time, my Angel, and time is all you have.”

“And mine is a grey-black wolf?” He’d ask dubiously.

She’d nod and say “It’s all you ever drew and said as a babe. Your mark is the wolf just as your soulmate’s is a playful orange fox,” before grabbing his arm and touching that very mark as Illya himself traced the red star on her left wrist where he knew on his father there was a blue crescent moon.

The fox loved her almost as much as Illya himself did and whenever she touched it, the fox would roll onto it’s belly and playfully snap its jaw at her.

 ****  


Twenty one years later and the smell of Jasmine chokes him.

 ****  


**_“Gaby-”_** Illya said curtly before closing his mouth abruptly.

The woman in question looked at him, a single eyebrow quirked as he offered no other words but solely her name.

“Yes, Illya?” She asked, words patient but tone not.

He struggled with how to say it but finally answered her with “Your perfume...It’s strong, no?” His eyes trained on her neck where her soul mark curled into view (a spiral, she had shown him once with no shame)

It wasn’t but the memories associated with it were.

Gaby Teller was no fool but she was also not unkind and she narrowed her eyes at him, seeing right through him like she always had.

Seeing his obvious discomfort, she said “Right, well, I’ll just go have a rinse then,” before leaving to the bathroom and leaving Illya to his thoughts.

It had been years since he had thought of his mother, well, thought of her in the idyllic fuzz of pleasant memories and it had been an even longer time since he had paid thought to his soulmate. He could still feel the fox gliding across his skin, over excited for no reason despite the conversation Illya had had with it earlier.

There was a reason Illya wore turtlenecks and it was all because of that _damn fox._ It never stayed in one place despite Illya’s many disapprovals and in fact, it ignored him and roamed across the planes of his body for anyone and God to see. This was highly irritating to Illya because it was very hard to seem like a professional when you had a damn fox running from arm to arm and while it was hardly taboo for others to see a soul mark, Illya was a private person by nature. It was theorized that those who have animal soul marks have them because they themselves were animalistic and act like those very marks.

Illya prayed that people were wrong because God was not cruel enough to saddle him to someone so wanton and shameless.

“Ah, Peril, reflecting on Mother Russia and her lover, Communism?”

_Speaking of wanton and shameless._

“Back so soon, Cowboy? Did Mrs. Hallel find your,” Illya said, gesturing to all of Solo with an open palm before continuing, “ _lacking_?”

Solo narrowed his eyes at Illya and licked his lips, a sign that he was readying to retort with something sharp and aimed to hurt.

“Peril, **_darling_** ,” he said, smiling sharply through lowered lashes that always made Illya’s blood boil and make him want to curl his hands into fists every time it was directed at him, “No one has ever found _me_ lacking; _can you say the same for yourself?”_

__

He raised his chin defiantly at Illya, smirking arrogantly like he always did in his overly expensive blue suit that matched his eyes and already Illya could feel his lips curl in disdain.

That was Solo’s goal and if possible, his smirk grew wider. Illya scowled at himself as he knew better. Cowboy only got his kicks from making Illya react to his taunts, this is textbook bully and Napoleon Solo is not the first to make fun of him.

He’s just the first to get under his skin so thoroughly and no matter how hard Illya scrubs, he can’t seem to get rid of him.

He refused to give Solo the satisfaction of replying so he ignored him in favor of cleaning his guns, the task he’d been doing before Gaby had walked in.

Solo sighed once he realized Illya truly did intend to carry out his plan for the silent treatment and with the impatience of a toddler, he asked _“Where’s Gaby?”_

Illya didn’t even look up, he just pointed toward their hotel room’s bathroom. Solo sighed and sat down in the arm chair across from Illya’s and the glass table between them. Illya continued to fiddle with his guns even as he felt the heavy weight of someone’s gaze on him; his hands shook not even once.

Progress, his childhood therapist would have said.

“Is this what you’ve been doing all day? Playing with your guns while I went out there, working?” Solo scoffed, sounding like the ungrateful brat Illya's brain always painted him as.

“ _Whoring,_ don’t you mean?” Illya snapped, unable to refrain.

“ _Your mother would know, wouldn’t she?”_ Napoleon smirked before he was thrown against the wall.

Illya gripped Solo by the collar and said “ _ **Don’t.** Don’t talk about my mother._ Talk about me all you want but **_not her_** ,” accent thick as his anger.

Solo’s hands wrapped around his wrists and an expression Illya didn’t recognize crossed Solo’s features but as soon as it was there, it was gone and then Cowboy said “Okay, Peril. Now get off me, this is an original Zegna.”

They both let go but Illya stayed in place, making Solo have to back up against the wall or else he’d end up on top of the Russian.

“Peril-”

“ _My watch. Give it back_ ,” Illya ground out, eyes so sharp on Solo’s face they could’ve cut glass.

“Sorry, old habits die hard,” Solo said, not sounding apologetic at all.

Illya’s jaw clenched and he took the watch back, ignoring the brief warmth he felt when his fingers came in contact with Solo’s. Solo was always so warm, far too warm to be normal. Illya chuckled to himself as he put the watch back on, theorizing that Cowboy’s soul mark was probably a small fire symbol.

Especially since he thought he was, what’s the American term? _Hot shit._

__

“Something funny?” Solo’s voice asked, cutting his thoughts short.

“Something like that,” Illya replied nonchalantly as he looked up to find cool blue eyes assessing him.

_“Are you planning on sharing with the class?”_ Solo asked, irritated.

Illya decided there was no harm in it and looked directly into Solo’s face and said with a deadpan voice “You’re soul mark must be a small fire because you think you’re hot shit.”

Cowboy’s eyes widened to comical proportions before he schooled his face back into his trademark smirk and said “See, if it was anyone else, I would think that was a joke but since it was you, I’m almost positive this is your stunted way of asking to see my soul mark.”

Unfortunately, as always, Solo caught Illya off guard and he felt himself sputtering “N- _No, you are mistaken._ ”

There was no right thing to say in this situation but that was clearly the wrong thing to say because it just made Solo get in his face and purr “Come on, Peril, _I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”_

__

Illya’s face burned red and when Solo laughed, he shoved him off.

Thankfully, Gaby walked in and interrupted them from getting too out of hand.

Later, Illya wished he had actually taken Solo’s bait.

 ****  
  


 

God is dead.

_God is dead and we killed him and bless his poor mother’s soul because she was probably rolling in her grave over the blasphemous tone his inner turmoil had taken but it wasn’t Illya’s fault; his life had taken an almost shakespearean turn of disaster and irony._

__

Because Illya Kuryakin, special KGB agent, friend, son, and all around hard worker, _was a fool._

__

_A Goddamn fool._

****  
  


Their mission in Greece was simple, they had to retrieve an art piece in the Hallel gallery before the Nazis and the Mossad got to it first. Their plan had been working until the Hallels got wind of it and decided to trap Cowboy and then give him to the Nazis to play with.

It took twenty four hours to find him and when Illya finally did, thirty people had died at his hands and Napoleon was hanging limply by his wrists. On Illya, there was blood on his clothes, under his nails, and specks dusted his skin.

Solo was still more bloody than he and the very sight of his abuse made Illya’s stomach flop dangerously.

_“Peril,”_ Solo said hoarsely through cracked lips and a broken smile as if nothing was wrong.

His right eye was swollen shut and the way he called out to him broke him because how dare Solo try to downplay what they did to him, how he suffered at the hands of monsters.

Illya rushed forward to free him from his chains but stopped dead in his tracks when his eyes caught something.

They had stripped him of his clothing and his body told the story of the horrors they had forced him to endure. Burns, cuts, and bruises decorated Solo’s body but there was one particular cut that held Illya’s attention. Right over his heart, the monsters had carved an X into his chest.

_And guarding his heart and hovering by the X was a grey-black wolf snarling at him._

__

 

“Kury- _Illya, this is rather uncomfortable, so can you_ -” Solo snapped as he rattled the chains.

“Sorry,” Illya mumbled as he unlocked the chains.

Solo’s hands were released and he immediately rubbed the numbness out of them but all Illya could focus on was the wolf, _his wolf, on Solo’s heart, impossible-_

 

“He doesn’t bite, you know,” Solo joked before wincing and clutching his side.

“Come, Gaby brought clothes,” Illya heard himself say as he walked in a daze.

He was in a state of shock and dimly, he knew Solo was following him out the back door to the car. This had to be a joke, God isn’t cruel, is mother taught him that despite her own circumstances begging to differ and maybe this was his punishment, the way he paid for the sins he earned when he forged himself in blood-

“Illya?” Gaby asked, concerned.

“With the way he’s acting, you’d think it was him they beat up,” Solo snorted as he put on the pajamas Gaby had brought him.

“Drive faster,” Illya said without thought.

Gaby cast him a look but did as he said.

 

They got to the hotel faster than expected thanks to Gaby’s impeccable driving and once they had snuck a bloody and battered Solo into their room, Gaby left them alone to go debrief to Waverly.

“When she says debrief, do you think she really means undress? Because those two are soul mates, he has a lotus by his elbow and that’s Gaby’s favorite,” Solo said with a chuckle before wincing as Illya applied a healthy dose of antiseptic on one of his chest wounds.

“Don’t be crass,” Illya chastised, ignoring the goosebumps his breath on Solo’s skin had created and the damn dog that followed his hand’s every movement.

Solo frowned at the wolf and then trained his eyes onto Illya before saying “You know, he’s never done the before, he usually hates everyone he sees.”

“Perhaps he has good taste,” the words leaving Illya’s mouth before he could stop them.

Solo narrowed his eyes and Illya made absolutely sure his face was blank and devoid of emotion.

“So you’ve seen my soul mark, it feels a bit unfair that I haven’t seen yours,” Solo said, gauging Illya’s reaction.

 

_Over his dead body._

“Ask Gaby if you want to see a soul mark that’s not yours,” Illya answered, the words tasting sour on his tongue as he avoided Solo’s gaze by concentrating on the antiseptic.

“Anyone with eyes can see Gaby’s soul mark which is why it was probably really easy for Waverley to find her. Besides, I asked to see yours not hers,” Solo pouted.

“You didn’t ask,” Illya retorted, waves of panic starting to settle within him.

_Focus on the work, Illya, your control is yours only until you let it not be._

“Fine, Peril, be that way. May _I, Napoleon Solo,_ pretty _pretty_ please see your soul mark,” Solo asked through fluttered lashes.

“No,” he answered stiffly before clenching his jaw and applying a very liberal amount of antiseptic on the X shaped cut above Solo’s heart.

“ _No?_ And _ow_ ,” Cowboy parroted, taken aback.

“Cowboy, I know you don’t hear no often but here it is again: _no_.”

Solo scoffed and said “Oh, Peril, is it something embarrassing? I know not all soul marks can be as cool as my wolf here but surely it can’t be that bad. Is it some tawdry bubblegum pink heart?”

Illya rolled his eyes and ignored him but Solo wasn’t having that.

“Illya, we’re friends-”

_“We are not friends.”_

“And now you’ll have to add heartache amongst my many injuries. You could always make it up to me by showing me your soul mark,” Solo said in a sad attempt at being coy.

_“I think not,”_ Illya said dabbing Solo’s chest one final time before trying to walk away from this conversation.

Trying being the key word because Solo had a grip on him as he held Illya by the arm.

“And where do you think you’re going?”

“Your eye needs ice,” Illya lied.

“No, it doesn’t, you are an _atrocious liar, how did they even let you become a spy, what with that and your height-”_

_“Are you finished?”_ Illya snapped.

“No, because this conversation isn’t over, stop being a baby and show me your mark.”

_“No-”_

_“Just let me-”_

_“Why do you want to see it? Are you checking to see if we’re a good match because I think not,”_ Illya sneered.

And then Napoleon Solo proved once again why he was the CIA’s best marksmen as he made the money shot.

_“You don’t know that,”_ Solo said, chin jutted out in a silent dare for Illya to say something else.

 

It took all his years of training to stop him from flinching and Solo didn’t catch the slight movement solely because he covered it up with a bitter laugh and said “It appears the Nazis didn’t only torture you physically, you need sleep, you are talking crazy.”

“Am I? If so, prove me wrong and show me your mark,” Solo answered back, tense.

_“No,”_ he growled.

_“Why? Why, Peril, are you so concerned over my reaction to your soul mark?”_ Solo sniped.

_“I don’t care-”_

__

_“Then show it to me!”_

__

_“No-”_

_“Oh, so we’ve finally met the Great Red Peril’s match, the very thing that scares him-”_

__

_“I am not scared-”_

__

_“Then why are your hands shaking?”_

Damn, and he’d been doing so good.

Illya’s hands shook and Solo glared at him before snapping “Show me the mark or prove cowardice runs deep in your veins.”

Illya Kuryakin had a limit and Solo had reached it. He rolled his sleeve up and snapped his father’s watch off, revealing the orange fox nestled where Solo had last touched him.

“Oh- _Oh_ ,” Solo said in the tiniest voice as he touched the fox and it responded to his touch, overeager.

Illya sneered and said “O _h-happy?”_

Illya’s tone seemed to snap Solo out of his reverie and when he took in Illya’s expression, he sighed and said _“Peril.”_

“Do not _Peril_ me, clearly there has been a mistake, _I_ am not, _we_ are not-”

_“Illya!_ ” Solo yelled.

“ _What,”_ Illya snapped.

_“We are, we have, we’ve been_ ; now come here.”

“I am already-”

_“Come closer, you clout,”_ Solo said with rolled eyes.

Illya did as he was told and stood in front of Solo, who put both hands on top of Illya’s shoulders.

“Illya Kuryakin, you are by far the dumbest man alive, how the KGB even hired you is a feat beyond me-”

“Is there point to-”

“ _And_ I’ve been in love with you since Italy and after I’m done talking to you, we’re going to kiss and perhaps do a little more,” Napoleon said, voice booking no room for argument.

“We are spies and wanted men...And _men_ in love, this will only end bloody,” Illya replied.

“Does it matter? Because right now, I love you and you love me and right now, we get to end happy.”

“Still-”

“Illya?”

“Yes, Napoleon?” Illya answered, his tongue finding the name foreign but not distasteful.

_“Shut up.”_

__

_“Make me.”_

And he did.

_The kiss was by far the bloodiest Illya had ever had but he didn’t really mind because it was worth it, he always had been,_ Illya thought to himself as he twined their hands together and saw out of the corner of his eye the wolf and fox playing with each other amongst their hands.

 ****  


The End.

 

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Anima](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7863685) by [Antiquity](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Antiquity/pseuds/Antiquity)




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